


my hope is set

by elegantstupidity



Series: like a young saint [9]
Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 11:45:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13434054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegantstupidity/pseuds/elegantstupidity
Summary: Mike's dreamed of waking up to Ginny's voice a lot in the past few years. Reality is much, much better, but it's going to take some getting used to.Luckily, getting used to it is pretty enjoyable all on its own.Follow up toall your dreams (are knocking on your front door).





	my hope is set

**Author's Note:**

> title from "I Am A Ghost" by The Gospel Whiskey Runners

“Mike.”

His name drifted through the haze of sleep on a sweet, low note. Breathy and musical and all too familiar, it cut into his dreams of burnished bronze skin and dark, dreamy eyes. He’d heard that same voice too many times in his dreams over the past three years to quite believe it was real.

Even if, as he slowly rose into consciousness, the memory of the woman that voice belonged to wrapping herself around him, giving herself over to him and took everything he offered in reply swam into focus.

Well, he’d dreamed of that a lot, too.

Fuck. If it turned out that he’d dreamed the past six hours, he didn’t want to wake up.

Still, Mike hummed a little, coming fully awake in spite of himself. His eyes remained shut, his mouth pulled down in a little frown as he braced himself for disappointment.

“Mike,” came that musical whisper once again, this time puffing right in his ear.

The undercurrent of hunger and raw desire, tinged with more than a little laughter, wasn’t something he could dream up on his own.

He turned into the sound, frown instantly dissolved as he realized he wasn’t dreaming. This was reality.

He blinked his eyes open. Curled around his shoulder, eyes bright as she peered up at him through the darkness, Ginny Baker blinked back.

Even in the dim light filtering through the windows, Ginny seemed to glow. In the pearly light of the moon, wrapped up in the blankets of his bed, she was radiant. Ginny Baker was always radiant, to be fair, but like this, so close and so intimate, Mike almost couldn’t breathe with the force of the realization.

Automatically, he leaned down and pressed his mouth against hers. Cupping her cheek in his hand, he coaxed her lips apart, eager for his next taste of of Ginny.

It seemed she was just as eager, arching into him and pushing her tongue past his, sweeping straight into his mouth. Maybe he should have worried about tasting stale with sleep, but Ginny didn’t seem to mind, mapping out the inside of his mouth with a single-minded focus.

Evidently, Ginny’d woken up and wanted him to join her.

It seemed, though, there were parts of her that’d been awake a long time already. The slick glide of her thigh against his was testament to that. Mike had to imagine her pussy was slick and aching for more attention. He wanted to imagine that. None of her actions persuaded him otherwise, at least. She rubbed her thigh over his again, spreading more of her arousal across his skin. Whether or not it was on purpose, he had no idea, but the drag of her hand down his chest right to source of that arousal couldn’t be anything but deliberate.

Jesus. Mike wanted to groan, wanted to bat her hands away and get to work himself. Why should she get her hands dirty when he was right there?

But Ginny pressed against his side, bare breasts pushing against his ribs and thigh hitching open to make room for her fingers. The back of her wrist bumped against his leg as she started to stroke herself. Mike’s arm, circled around her waist as it had been since they fell asleep, tightened, dragging her an impossible inch closer.

“What time is it?” he slurred, free hand coming down to cup the back of her knee and trap her hand more firmly between them.  

“I don’t know.”  

“Then why’d you wake me up?” he teased, like he didn’t already know and wasn’t more than happy to lose a little sleep for it.

Rather than search for words, Ginny pulled her hand out from between them, splayed her wet fingers against his stomach, and rocked her hips, dragging the sensitive, wet folds of her pussy against Mike’s thigh.

“Didn’t get enough of me, huh?” he murmured, though it came out as more of a sleepy growl.

It wasn’t as if he expected her to say, “I could never get enough of you,” however much he wanted to hear it.

The way she shoved at his shoulder and, once he was flat on his back, crawled on top of him, muttering, “Shut up and fuck me,” as she went was almost as good, though.

Mike was more than happy to indulge that request.

In fact, he had already indulged it several times this evening. But they could still call this round two. Honestly, he didn’t care what they called it as long as it happened.

So, with a greedy growl, Mike grabbed onto Ginny’s bare waist and flipped their positions.

Ginny laughed the whole way down. She curled beneath him, her knees tucked against his sides and fingers digging into his shoulders as she shook with delight. Head tipped back against his pillows, her curls spilled across the Egyptian cotton sheets in a tangled riot. She was gonna complain about it in the morning, but right now, she was too lost in the push and pull between them to care.

Mike didn’t care, either. He couldn’t help but want to fall asleep and wake up to tangled curls and the warm, hoarse laugh he’d missed so much every day for the rest of his life.

God, did he want it. He was so filled with the yearning for it, that he couldn’t find words—a true rarity in his life—just stared down at Ginny in awe. He lifted a hand to her face, thumb tracing reverently over her full lips, and was nearly undone when her pink, pert tongue darted out for a taste.

He groaned, his forehead dropping to her shoulder for just a second. Only long enough to promise himself he’d show her just how she made him feel. Just as soon as he got it together.

For whatever reason, he’d thought that with the pressure of a first time—which had still been fucking excellent, thanks—off, he might be a little less overwhelmed. Less desperate for Ginny in a way he couldn’t remember feeling for anyone in a long time.

He should’ve known better.

After all, three years and 3000 miles hadn’t done anything to cool the intensity of his feelings. A night spent twined together in his bed sure as hell wouldn’t, either.

Mike was beginning to suspect he’d never feel less desperate to have Ginny’s hands, her mouth, her unbelievable body on him. Just like he’d never get over the desire to have his on her.

He was more than okay with that.

And, given the way Ginny was sighing as his fingers trailed over her cheek and neck, across her strong shoulders to the firm globes of her breasts, and down the taut plane of her stomach, Mike hoped she might feel the same way.

Shaking off the softness of his thoughts when he was already so hard between Ginny’s legs, Mike worked his broad hand between their bodies. He might be hard and ready, but he’d rather make sure she was, too. Easy as anything, two fingers slid inside her slick folds, making her sigh and squeeze around them. It didn’t seem to matter that he’d already coaxed three orgasms from her tonight, she was eager for more.

“Yes,” she sighed, tilting her hips so his fingers could catch against her most sensitive spots. Just like that, any plans he’d had for a cursory touch flew right out the window. If Ginny wanted his fingers, that was what she was going to get.

When the heel of his palm settled firm and unyielding against her clit, that sigh turned into an eager hiss. Ginny’s tight stomach rippled as she heaved herself up and captured his mouth in a desperate kiss. Her hips rolled greedily against his hand, juices smeared liberally across his palm.

As telltale tremors began to tug at his fingers, Mike pressed Ginny back into the mattress, covering her trembling body with his. She welcomed him, making space for his hips in the cradle of her thighs, arms winding around his shoulders.

“That’s it,” he murmured, nuzzling against her ear and trailing kisses down her neck. Ginny gasped, but kept rocking against his hand, even as he took up a steady rhythm in and out. “Give it to me, Gin. Show me what you’ve got.”

She nodded hard, too far gone for words. Her eyes screwed shut as she focused on chasing her pleasure.

Which left Mike to focus on the enviable task of making sure she found it.

If he also got to revel in the way her—truly ridiculous, over the top—body felt writhing against his. He’d had the pleasure of experiencing it before they’d fallen into an exhausted sleep, but Mike knew he’d be an idiot not to soak in every opportunity he had at it. Her nipples, hard as pebbles, dragged against his chest with Ginny’s every heaving breath. Her knees dug into the mattress, splaying her quivering thighs wide to give him as much access to her grasping, greedy cunt as he could desire.

With that kind of invitation, of course Mike wasn’t going to let so tempting an opportunity slip through his grasp. So, on his next thrust in, one more finger joined the first two.

It wasn’t nearly as much of a stretch as when he’d fucked her earlier tonight, one leg propped on his shoulder as the other curled around his hip. His dick, now almost as hard and aching as it had been the first time he slid inside Ginny’s perfect cunt, was definitely thicker than even three of his fingers. Still, it was a snug fit.

Ginny seemed to appreciate it, though.

She gasped out, “Like that, like that,” as if Mike needed further encouragement to keep finger fucking her. He did, however, take the chance to dip his head down and draw one peaked, brown nipple into his mouth, rolling it between his lips and flicking it with his tongue.

Her skin tasted like salt and sweat and sunshine for all the sun wasn’t due to rise for at least another three hours. Mike could take the other two, but the slightly stale remnants of their first time together, while he’d cherish and relive that particular memory forever, did make him start forming a plan for his and Ginny’s first round under the waterfall shower head.

But only start.

Other things quickly took over the better part of his concentration.

Ginny’s fingers slid into his hair, and Mike didn’t have the chance to find out if she was going to push him away or clutch him closer because all at once, every muscle in her body went taut as a high wire. Her grip on his hair turned almost painful, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a bit of a turn on. His neglected dick jumped, thick and heavy, when Ginny’s knees tried to snap closed, only to thud against his hips. Using the impressive strength of her legs, she gripped him hard.

Nearly as tight as the grip her cunt had on his fingers. Her grasping, greedy walls sucked him in, seating his palm flush against the rigid knot of her clit. She keened, high and needy, just once, but it was more than enough to signal what was coming.

That she was coming.

With a wet pop, Mike released her nipple, but Ginny was too far gone to notice. Head thrown back, her neck a long, gorgeous column that perfectly displayed the thrumming of her pulse just under her jaw, Ginny was breathtaking. Literally. For the long moments that Ginny’s walls fluttered and spasmed against his questing fingers, neither of them breathed. She because she was too caught up in the maelstrom of sensation to worry about something as ordinary as oxygen, and he because he was too distracted watching her.

Of course, it had to end.

She sucked in a huge gust of air, a signal for Mike to take one, too. Their chests heaved, brushing against each other as they both came down. Which was a little ridiculous. Ginny was the only one with anything to come down from, but Mike felt like he’d run a marathon nonetheless.

A little shakily, he reached up—with his clean hand—and cleared the errant curls that had been tossed onto her face.

“There you are,” he murmured, tracing over the high arch of her cheekbone.

Like that, Ginny melted.

She didn’t go limp, there was too much awareness thrumming through her for that, but all the tension in her body leaked out into the early morning air, leaving only contentment and the aftertaste of pleasure.

Well, if Mike had anything to say about it, he’d like that aftertaste to be more of a present-taste.

Before he could slide down her body, bury his face back between her thighs—Jesus Christ, Mike was pretty sure, even on the scant experience he had with this particular set of thighs, that he could live down there if only she’d let him—though, Ginny slid her hands to the back of his neck. She pulled him flush against her, one heel dragging up the back of his thigh as she kissed him, sloppy and wet and enthusiastic, spine arching to press every ounce of her flesh against every pound of his. It wasn’t like he’d argue with that. Even if he’d love to get another taste of her.

He was pretty sure he wasn’t getting to far ahead of himself in thinking that he’d get his chance.

Once Ginny’d drummed up a pleasant fog in Mike’s brain, helped along by his own imagination and the many possibilities his house presented for making her come as often as physically possible, she demonstrated that her figure wasn’t just for show. It was built to perform, too.

In the blink of an eye, she had Mike flat on his back again. With one knee planted on either side of him, she caged him in—not that he had any fucking intention of going anywhere—as she stretched and reached for the box of condoms sitting on his nightstand where he’d tossed them in his hurry to get inside Ginny Baker.

(He’d waited five years, three of them almost without hope. He wasn’t waiting to tidy up once he had her in his bed.)

Up until this moment, unlike the first time, Mike had done a pretty phenomenal job of ignoring his dick. It was more important to get her off, show her how good he could and would make her feel. Now, though, with Ginny seated astride him, her warm, wet folds just inches from the weeping head of his flushed, straining cock, it was much harder. It was so much harder now to ignore the fact that he wanted nothing more than to take hold of her hips and slide head first into home.

Jesus Christ. Years away from the field and he still fell back on baseball metaphors.

The urge to laugh died a quick death as Ginny settled back on her heels, sitting tall atop his lap. It was hard to laugh when confronted with such an awe-inspiring sight.

Even though she had him almost entirely at her mercy, Ginny showed no inclination for toying with him. Thank God.

(She’d already had her chance to push him to the brink. She’d made him sit on the bed and made clear why she’d batted away his attempts to rid her of her coat all evening. Mike was grateful she had. He would’ve kicked himself if he’d missed out on the chance to see Ginny Baker enticingly untie her belt and with one smooth shrug, let her trench coat fall to the floor, revealing only her and a set of barely there lingerie. The fact that she dropped to her knees not long after and helped him out of his own clothes and then acquainted herself with his hard, eager dick, was just a bonus.

Since he’d been such a good sport, she’d then let him help her take care of the butter yellow lace that revealed far more than it hid.

Did Mike regret tearing her panties in his haste to be rid of them? A little, but the regret that he wouldn’t see them on her again was more than offset by the payoff of his first glimpse of Ginny’s naked pussy. He was a fucking millionaire, okay? He could afford all the fancy lace underwear for the love his life he wanted.

Even if she looked much better without them.)

Within seconds, she had him sheathed, the sensation of her strong, brown hand only a little dulled by the thin layer of latex.

Mike was grateful for even that, though, when she lined up his crown with her hot entrance and sank onto him in one, steady stroke. He wanted to blow his load then and there, but managed to hold himself back. Without the condom, he couldn’t imagine having the willpower.

Loosing a shuddery gust of air, he gazed up at Ginny, awestruck. He’d wanted her to come back, or for him to go to her, but he’d never really expected it to happen. And even if she did, or he did, he definitely didn’t expect things would tie themselves up so neatly, so quickly.

He wasn’t complaining, but really. If this turned out to be a dream, he was going to be pissed.

Blissfully, if the little sounds of pleasure that dropped off her lips were any indicator, unaware of the thoughts swirling through his head, Ginny made herself comfortable in his lap and on his cock. She tucked her feet up over his thighs, pressing her palms against his stomach as she pumped up and down a few times, shallow thrusts that still made Mike’s head spin. Once she was settled in, ready to really kick round two into high gear, though, she stilled. It was probably a good thing. Gave Mike a chance to settle himself, too, his fingers tightening convulsively on her hips.

Sure, the condom robbed him of the velvet damp of Ginny’s pussy, but he still had its mind-numbing heat, almost as hot as Ginny herself. He still had the shuddery little aftershocks coursing along her walls. He definitely still had the glorious pressure, closing in on his cock from every angle. It was more than enough to deal with.

But he could multitask.

Bucking upwards, just once and just hard enough to draw a delighted shriek from the woman riding him, Mike offered her a cocky grin. Ginny rolled her eyes, but didn’t take the hint to start moving. She started talking instead.

“God, I knew you’d be good at this,” she confessed, looking down at him with undisguised affection.

Mike smirked, feeling his pride and dick swell. Ginny felt it, too, if her responding moan was any hint. “Gave this some thought, huh?”

She shrugged, but even in the weak moonlight, Mike could see the way her cheeks and chest darkened, just a little. In the deep shadow, Ginny didn’t glow gold and bronze the way she did in every other light, but God if Mike didn’t love her just as much like this. Even more, maybe. Lit in silver and blue, moonlight pooling between her breasts and on her lips, Mike told himself that if he played his cards right, he was the last man who’d ever see her like this.

He reached up to trail his fingers through the shadows on her skin. She bit her lip and arched into his touch, ribs pressing into his rough palm and breast settling against the side of his hand. Mike didn’t need any more encouragement to cup the full globe, flicking at her stiff nipple.

Ginny sighed, spine slackening just a touch. Her walls pulsed lazily against his shaft, but she still refused to move. Mike wouldn’t complain that she wanted him inside her, no matter how it happened, but it would be pretty embarrassing if he came just from this. He doubted it’d convince Ginny he could take care of her every need, at the very least.

“I did think about it,” she admitted, so quiet Mike almost missed it. She stared down at her fingers, laid flat against his stomach, maybe a bit thicker than it used to be in his playing days, but still plenty firm. Ginny certainly didn’t seem to mind. Her fingers curled around his sides, and she lifted her eyes to his. An electric current jolted between them, pinning Mike where he lay. “I thought about it a lot, actually.”

Ginny’s hips finally moved. Mike couldn’t say which was more affecting, the drag of her hot, tight pussy against his dick or the confession itself.

“Tell me,” he managed to gasp, hands falling to the tops of her thighs, trying to tug her forward, to make that rolling motion again. Anything to get her moving.

She squirmed, which was close enough for Mike’s needs, ducking her gaze away. Trust Ginny Baker to look cool and collected on the mound, lit up in halogen and camera flashes, bases loaded and a 3-0 count, but to shy away from a little dirty talk when she already had him buried to the hilt inside her.

“Tell me, Gin,” urged Mike, fingers digging into the solid slabs of muscle in his grip. Her hips shifted and he suppressed the need to groan. Still, his next words came out more strained than he’d like. “Tell me you thought about this. About how good I’d make you come and how you’d never want to leave my bed.”

As Mike talked, babbled, begged, Ginny began to rise and fall in earnest. It was a slow, easy pace, but her chest already heaved, her stomach rippling with want.

Mike could certainly sympathize.

“Tell me you thought about me when you made yourself come.”

Ginny keened a little at that, her pussy clamping down hard on his cock, too. Before he could come up with something else that would get her to make that high, needy sound again and again and again, she spoke.

“I gave in and named my vibrator Mike after two months away from you.”

He choked, coughing out his shock. Ginny kept up her steady rhythm, but there was definitely a smug smirk tucked away into the corner of her mouth now. She shrugged, and Mike tried not to focus on the way it made her tits bounce, but Christ. He was only human. Pressed together between her arms as she anchored herself on his waist, all he could really process was an intense desire to bury his face in her breasts and only leave when they were flushed red from arousal and beard burn.

“It only made sense,” she continued, snapping his attention back to reality. “It was always your name I called out when I came.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, snapping his hips up into hers.

Ginny’s mouth dropped open and her rhythm stuttered for a second. But only a second. Before Mike even really had a chance to register the pause, she was working herself on him again, this time a little more wildly. She panted, sweat beginning to collect on her collarbone and above her lip. Mike ached to lick it off her, but settled for drinking in the sight.

“You gonna call my name again?” he demanded, planting his feet on the mattress so he could drive into her again.

She nodded furiously, any words cut off in the back of her throat as the pulsing crown of his dick dragged against her g-spot. Almost without warning, she bent forward, her forehead pressed against his shoulder as she shuddered. Her hips still moved, a little jerky, so Mike moved his hands back to her perfect ass to help guide her rhythm. God, how many times had he dreamed of getting his hands on that ass of hers? Too many to count.

Reality was so much fucking better.

“Think I can get you to scream it?” he asked, hopeful.

“You’re welcome to try, old man” she rasped, finally lifting her head from his shoulder.

“Oh, Baker,” he panted, fighting against the tightening of his balls as Ginny’s pussy somehow gripped him even closer, “I think I’ll manage.”

The, “After all, I’ve got the rest of my life to do it,” went unsaid.

The way she laughed into his mouth made him think she heard the subtext anyway. Mike didn’t even really mind, not even when she pulled away to sit up straight again. Especially not when she guided one of his big, callused hands down to cup the ridge of her hip bone, thumb splayed across her flat, tense stomach.

Mike let his hand slip from its perch, low enough that his thumb skated over Ginny’s dark thatch of curls and into the slick gash of her folds. She jolted a little when he brushed over her clit on the way down and again when he came back to it, circling with purpose.

The quick suck of air shouldn’t have made him so goddamn proud, but who was he kidding? Every reaction he managed to draw from Ginny had him preening like a peacock.

Rubbing at the bundle of nerves and trying to block out the way it sent her pussy a little haywire, clamping down in a flurry of shudders on his cock, which was already begging for release, he said, “Tell me something, Gin.”

She hummed in question, more than a little distracted. She’d given up on working herself up and down on his dick, but the frantic circles her hips had taken up were just as good. The flared head of his dick bumped and rubbed against all the most sensitive parts inside her.

“Tell me I’m better than your vibrator.”

Ginny laughed, a frantic, breathless huff that still shot straight to Mike’s dick. She didn’t answer, but Mike wasn’t going to give in so easily.

Balling his hand into a fist, he ruthlessly stroked against her clit with the back of his knuckles, quick, jerky, side-to-side motions aided by the generous spill of her arousal. “Tell me,” he demanded, bearing down.

“Mike,” she gasped, one hand coming down to clutch at his wrist like she couldn’t decide if she wanted the onslaught to stop or never end. Since she didn’t push him away, actually ground against him more furiously, he gave her more.

“Tell me,” he grunted back.

More desperately, hips grinding and inner walls swelling around him, she whined, “Mike.”

“Just tell me, baby.”

“Mike!”

It wasn’t quite a scream. It was, however, loud and hoarse, like she couldn’t manage a real scream even if she tried. Faintly, it echoed off the glass of the windows.

(Not bad. He could do better.)

Her hips stuttered to a stop, but nothing else did. The muscles in her stomach rippled with effort, the walls of her pussy exploding into a cascade of shivery waves. Her jaw worked, no further sound leaking past her lips.

It was Mike’s undoing.

Grabbing onto her trim waist, he thrust up into her welcoming, climaxing cunt and spilled his own release. It felt like it went on forever. Ginny shuddering above him, his orgasm tearing through him; all of it fierce enough to leave him reeling and in need of a minute to collect himself.

Ginny, meanwhile, slumped forward, back to boneless contentment as she sprawled over his chest. Her long legs stretched out alongside his, toes curled into the warm space beneath his calves.. Mike laced his fingers at the small of her back and she made a happy little hum, pressing a kiss to his chest. His still mostly hard dick was still inside her, though that should probably change soon.

“Ginny,” he murmured, loath to shift her even if he acknowledged the necessity of it. At the very least, he didn’t want to have to sleep around a wet spot created by a spill from the condom.

She didn’t reply, just nuzzled her face into his neck. Actually, her lips were working there, worrying a mark into his skin just beyond the edge of his beard. Fuck, that felt good.

He definitely didn’t mind being marked up by Ginny Baker.

But there were definitely better times for it.

“Gin,” Mike huffed, enough of a laugh to make his chest rise and drop, taking the sated and supine pitcher with it.

Lips detached from his skin reluctantly. “What?” she demanded, almost a whine.

“Let me go get cleaned up, then you can go back to mauling me.”

She didn’t protest his terminology and even rolled off him so he could lumber into the bathroom to take care of the condom and wipe himself down, but she didn’t look particularly happy about it.

It wasn’t until he’d slid back into bed, Ginny’d gone off to clean herself up, too, and returned to plaster herself against him once more that Mike let himself voice the doubt itching at the back of his molars.

“You’re staying ‘til breakfast, right? I make a mean pancake.”

GInny pushed herself up on an elbow so she could stare down at him incredulously. She kept staring for a solid ten seconds, long after she must have seen the worry in his face. Of course she couldn’t put him out of his misery quickly, though. She had to teach him a lesson for doubting her.

Finally, dry as tinder, she pronounced, “Mike, I’m staying until you kick me out.”

“Well, prepare to be here forever, then,” he replied, too fast to let his brain catch up and tell him to play it cool. Like he had any shot at playing it cool with Ginny.

She laughed, bright and sweet, and settled back against him. “Works for me.”

God, he hoped it would because he absolutely meant it.

“It’s a plan,” he returned, soft since Ginny’s breath had already started to even out. She gave a sleepy sigh of agreement before slipping completely under.

Mike didn’t even have time to wonder at her ability to fall asleep anywhere, his own eyelids growing heavy. As he fell asleep for the second time of the night, one arm tucked around Ginny Baker, he couldn’t wait to wake up.

For too long, he’d looked forward to dreaming, to getting even a ghost of a taste of her. While Ginny was away, off conquering the baseball world, it was all he’d had.  And while his dreams hadn’t been terrible by any stretch of the imagination—they showed off his inventive streak at the very least—they made a poor substitute to the real thing.

So, with her warm breath skating across his bare chest as he finally sank into sleep, Mike promised himself he wouldn’t be letting go of the real Ginny Baker any time soon. He’d only just got her back, after all. It was time he got a chance to live a little outside of his dreams.

_Besides_ , he thought, surrendering to sleep with a wolfish grin taking over his face, _I still need to make her scream_.

**Author's Note:**

> As requested by... a lot of people, here's the smutty follow up to [all your dreams (are knocking on your front door)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13110996). Also, it's Sinning Sunday somewhere, right? ;)
> 
> Let me know what you thought!


End file.
